To Silence a Silvertongue
by Jessica - of Loki's Army
Summary: Someone decides Loki needs to take part in the re-enactment of a certain tale from Norse Mythology. Said someone can be the dwarf and Loki can be Loki. TW: Torture


**Disclaimer: "Loki do the disclaimer!" *Glare from Loki* "Oh yeah... You can't, well, I don't own the preview photo, I don't own MARVEL/Loki, but that's every fangirl's dream. This is purely fanfiction created for entertainment. Enjoy!"**

**To Silence a Silvertongue**

Loki wasn't a coward, he would fight until his last breath, a last act of honour, for that's what it would probably be. The Trickster didn't expect to live to see anything past the walls of this cell, he didn't dare hope for something as big as that...

Loki heard the sound of the cell door click shut, he didn't bother to turn around from the corner of the wall he was currently staring at, he wasn't sure if he had the strength, the trickster was too busy recovering from having his innards on his outtards a day or so ago.

"Now now, don't be like that little trickster. Aren't you happy to see me?" The voice taunted, Loki couldn't put a name to the voice, he had been told it in the beginning, but by now it had been long forgotten, he could barely even remember his own name.

Slowly the disgraced Prince turned around, shuffling from where he had sat cross-legged in the corner of the dark, dank, square room.

"Ah there we go, and how are you this morning?" The man mocked, Loki just glared. He would have talked, snapped back sarcastically, anything, if not for the fact his tongue had been ripped out, and for some reason it just wouldn't heal.

The man took a step forward and Loki tried to stand defensively, but could barely get up before falling to his knees again. Really, this was humiliating. He had been reduced to such a mess, and it didn't seem he was ever going to recover. Taking a deep, shaky breath Loki tried to give the best glare he could. All he got was a laugh for his efforts.

Another step forwards, the boots of the man making a clear click against the cold slate of the floor. Loki attempted to rise a second time but it failed just a miserably as his first. Sagging in defeat Loki just rested against the wall.

"See. You don't really want to fight me, do you, this will all go a lot smoother if we get straight to it." Two other people rushed in and forcibly grabbed each of Loki's forearms to drag him upright. The trickster tried to keep himself up steady, to at least stand straight, but exhaustion and starvation had long since gotten to him. And it would only continue to get worse, except he would never die, he would always heal to some extent, it really would be the death of him... Or wouldn't be the death of him in this case.

Loki was dragged towards a set of dangling chains he had become all too familiar with. Iron. Damned iron, it weakened what little magic he had left - which was the barest of minimums, enough to keep him conscious through everything, to keep him locked in the form of his Aesir self - it was a weakness to all beings with magic, all thanks to something they injected into him, a drug or a microchip the trickster didn't know, but it worked.

To his left Loki spied a table, one he had been strapped to many a time. There were marks for each and every time he had been on it, scratches, blood, dents in the metal...

As soon as his arms had been raised above his head, his wrists chained up, the two extras left, leaving Loki with the unknown man again.

"Lets get to it then." The man clapped his hands once, smiling gleefully and rocking back on his heels for a moment, oh he just loved this didn't he. Walking over to the table the torturer picked up some wool. Wool, harmless though you may think, if someone was creative enough Loki could tell you from experience it could be damn painful. Still, less painful than half the other things that had been done to him, maybe it was going to be an easy day today.

A moment later the ball of wall was placed back on the table and some other thread was picked up instead. Loki recognised it as medical thread, the kind you used for stitching... Stitching. Oh. If they were actually going to patch him back up then today was definitely not going to be one of the easy ones.

Again, after looking at it for a few seconds the man set it back on the metal table and finally picked up a very thin, long strip of leather, that was barely two millimetres in width. Well that wouldn't be very good for stitching up wounds. However it seemed the torturer was satisfied with his choice and kept a hold of the leather.

Loki looked through hooded eyes as the person walked to another part of the table, if Loki had been sharper than he was he could have told you what was being looked at but as it was he could barely make out anything that was standing right in front of him, small objects just weren't going to happen.

This whole time he had been standing stiffly, trying to keep the weight of himself off of his arms, but it was exhausting. This is what he had come to, he couldn't even stand up any more, had to rely on pieces of metal to do that job for him. Iron was definitely going to be the first thing he destroyed if ever he got free, unfortunately, getting free was something that only happened in his dreams... In the few dreams that he ever had any more, he didn't get many now, didn't get much sleep either.

"This will do perfectly!" The man chirped so happily, seemingly high on the anticipation of whatever he was about to do. Loki didn't like the sound of that, but what could he do? He was bound, weak, defenceless, he couldn't even talk. Screaming, he could do that, until his throat went raw, it seemed to be a skill he had honed almost to perfection in his time here.

The man walked up to the trickster again, and Loki looked at him warily, still not too sure what was going to happen.

"Care to take any guesses on what we're going to do today Kiki?" By the Gods he hated that nickname, there had been a time where his mother had used that pet name, even then Loki had hated it, now, it was just a word that seemed to mock him. And the mockery! All the time, be it mockery of his weakness, of the fact he couldn't talk, that he didn't have his magic. Anything was good enough for this man. "...Cat got your tongue? Oh wait, sorry, I do!" This man was mad, a complete nutter, a lunatic, a psychopath, who else could get such pleasure from being so cruel? Perhaps once, to an enemy. But again, and again, for hours on end, each and every day - or what Loki guessed to be a day, he didn't have anything to measure time by other than each of his breaths - and there wasn't even a reason for it! Before waking up here Loki had never even met this man, he could think of nothing the trickster could possible have done to wrong him, and he was never given an explanation! Never a get out clause, a purpose for all this pain, it seemed this mystery man just did it for the fun of it.

A needle was held up in front of his face, a large, silver needle one you would use for sewing, one that was as thick as the thread, certainly not one you used for medical stitching. Loki felt his stomach drop, he didn't think they were going to be patching anything up today...

"I heard a tale from Midgardian mythology-" It seemed a lot of conversations started that way whenever someone was talking to the trickster. The man licked his finger before beginning to thread the leather through the hole in the needle. "-And I fell, quite by chance, upon this lovely one that included some dwarves and a certain trickster." The man glanced up looking for some sort of reaction from Loki, on any other day Loki would have tried to think back to the mythology he had read from Midgard but he was too tired to try and make sense of what the torturer was trying to tell him.

"It- Actually, I'll just show you, I'm sure you'll get the gist of it as we go along." Loki could hear a small chuckle from the person in front of him before he was looking directly at the needle again. The only question what was he going to do with it? Or where was he going to thread it, that would be a better question. His stomach, legs, arms maybe? Or sew his fingers together, they'd done that to him a while back, but that had been with the proper medical equipment. The leather was entirely the wrong material for stitching and the needle was stupidly large... Perhaps the man was going to stitch a pretty picture on him somewhere, yes, he'd always thought perhaps a snake would be lovely... Yet what point was there in having sarcastic thoughts when you could not voice them?

A firm hand grabbed his jaw, Loki could feel the calloused fingertips scratch against his dry tender skin as it stroked across one of his newer scars. Loki tried to jerk his head away but the grip on his jaw only tightened, much harder and it would brake the bone.

Loki took to just looking the man in the eye, using his best efforts to glare at him. This man was marked... The first person that would die when Loki was free... Yeah, Loki could keep telling himself that, he could try to not face the fact that pigs would not only fly but would commandeer aeroplanes before there was even the smallest chance of him being free.

Suddenly Loki felt pain, excruciating, white hot pain. Pain from the needle getting pushed through his lower lip, he screamed. Really, he should have been used to this by now, these bouts of pain, but it seemed he was never ready, he was always healed just enough so that he knew what the dull ache of healing felt like, before his condition would deteriorate again.

Loki wanted to jerk he head away, but a) he really had no energy and b) that would make the injury far worse and c) the hand was still gripping his jaw too tightly to attempt moving it.

After Loki had gotten over the shock of the needle creating a huge hole through his lip the needle was pushed through the right corner of his upper lip too. Again Loki cried out in pain, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes, which he furiously tried to blink away, he was no coward so there would be no waterworks.

The man seemed to want to take his sweet time, waiting until Loki had gotten a handle on his breath, until the moment of pain dimmed to more of a throb, and only then pushing the needle in again. Loki did not cry, even when his pants became gasps, which then became halted and stuttered as he struggled to get enough oxygen. He tried - and failed - to be strong, not to show the pain he was feeling, but he would take broken bones and acid any day to this. And it was more than just physical, it was symbolic. Though the tongue had meant Loki couldn't speak, now his mouth was being sewn shut, there would be no talking, no attempts at speaking, the silvertongue had been silenced.

With each new stitch it became more and more impossible to open his mouth let alone move it, Loki had to remember to breathe through his nose. His panic began to rise as the needle travelled from the right side, to the left side of his mouth. Most of his other injuries healed but he would not get better if the stitches were left in, and with the choice of material - leather; durable - Loki feared they weren't going to be taken out any time soon.

A final, sharp harsh tug and it was over, and the man stepped back to admire his work. Loki could do nothing, hanging limply from the chains, feet dragging on the slate floor, eyes drooped. This wasn't one of the milder sessions, but this was far from the worst he had been through, yet this one drained him more than most, for this was taxing mentally too. Not to mention the effects of torture changed with exhaustion, starvation, dehydration... His list of ailments could fill a whole book.

"All done." The torturer seemed satisfied with his stitching. "You know, my stitching isn't all that straight, I'm afraid we're going to have to practise." Loki dreaded his next session, it seemed this was just a warm up.

Loki slumped to the floor as soon as his wrists were freed, this would have been a perfect opportunity to try and escape but he was just too tired to try. The trickster had given up. Glancing up at the door Loki half wished Thor would burst through and save him, he just wanted his brother. The last thing they had done before his kidnapping was argue, Loki had told Thor he hated him, were those words really the last thing he had told his family? That he hated them all?

The trickster was dragged back to the far end of the room by two people who walked in, whether it was the same two people as this morning Loki didn't know and he didn't care.

Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day. Maybe mercy would be shown to him and a reason would be given as to why he was here, or at least they could give him a merciful death? That was the mantra Loki repeated to himself every day. Though there would be no escaping here, there would be no Thor, no Frigga, no Warriors Three, Sif, or Sigyn to ever save him from this hell, perhaps one day, possibly tomorrow, it would all simply end. Perhaps they would truly silence the silvertongue.


End file.
